Week 10: Distance, Framing, Alienation

The eve of Christmas, most families go to church or sit around a tree opening pajamas to wear Christmas morning. That Christmas eve,  I sat in my drab and dimly lit apartment, alone. My thoughts were the only thing I had, and they were doing little to comfort me. I sighed and swiped underneath my eyes, both fingers were covered in black, goopey mascara. Outside, it began to snow and the wind whistled and howled as it swept through the trees out back. Normally, such a night would have been perfect for a windowsill reading and a hot cup of caramel vanilla tea. A few hours later, I had moved to the couch. I was curled up in the fetal position, while tears quietly escaped my eyes and added to the dark puddle already on the couch. Suddenly, my phone vibrated. Fear leapt into my throat and momentarily I could not breathe. I inched my fingers towards the phone and flipped it open. One new text message. I opened the phone with closed eyes. Determinedly, I opened my eyes to read the message, it said "She is gone, I'm so sorry".